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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319174">too fast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GnfKissDwt/pseuds/GnfKissDwt'>GnfKissDwt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Feelings Realization, M/M, Making Out, Partying, i have no idea what this is, they makeout in a bathroom idk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:47:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319174</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GnfKissDwt/pseuds/GnfKissDwt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream, finally, moved his own hands, up, up, up, until they slotted in the dip in his collarbone. They just breathed each other in for a while, seconds feeling like minutes, and with discernment between one another. They couldn’t even tell which was their heartbeat and which was the beat of the music rattling the floor. George was a magnet. A powerful, indestructible magnet with Dream’s name carved into it. </p><p>He wanted to lean in. He wanted to close the centimeter of space between them, displace the atoms that kept them so painfully far apart. </p><p>A half step forward, a tilted head prepared to slot together. </p><p>So I ain’t got no time to -- </p><p>“Wait…” George said, breathlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Dream and George go to a party. Sapnap makes way too strong of punch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>208</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>too fast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OKAY. I KNOW MY OTHER FIC IS SEVERELY NEGLECTED BUT HEAR ME OUT. TOO FAST BY SONDER. Anyway. Ignore that the time between lines is way too slow, it wouldn’t work otherwise. ENJOY :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The heavy bass hurt his ears. Like, really hurt them. He almost felt dizzy from it, like the sheer velocity would knock him off his feet. The alcohol rushed through him, buzzing through his whole body. He felt, well, drunk off of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This song was annoying. He didn’t know what song it was, but he knew it was fucking grating. A shrill woman on top of a screeching synth, too fast to really be heard. It crowded his vision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was dancing in the middle of the room. They hadn’t gone together like they’d planned to, Dream still had a mountain of work that he had to get through half of before he could leave for the party, and George left without him. Which, yeah, made sense, but that didn’t mean it felt any better to have to sit home, alone, while your best friends get drunk without you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That mess of dark brown almost-black hair had a glass bottle clutched in his dominant hand. Of what, Dream didn’t know, but he knew he looked good doing it. He was smiling wide, dancing in sync with the terrible, </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>song and leaning into someone Dream didn’t recognize. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching him made time move slower. The song he so desperately hated faded out into nothing but an annoying hum, a fly on the wall. The half a room of space between them seemed to drag on forever, it felt like when they were still 4,326 miles away, give or take; it’s not like he had it memorized or anything. Every second he was more than an arm’s length away felt like death was creeping up on him. And you could say he was dramatic for that, sure, but it would mean nothing to him. What was life without a little drama? Dream hadn’t noticed he’d been standing in the middle of the hallway, staring, until someone bumped hard into his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Move, loverboy.” He didn’t mind the nickname.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dark brown eyes met his own right as the song changed, as his eyes were cleared of hazy affection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream!” The words were muffled, but not slurred, he hadn’t been drinking for too long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This song was better. Much better. Half the speed but twice the beat, he felt on </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come over here,” he called, pushing away the girl he was dancing with. She didn’t seem too distraught, her blonde hair disappearing into the crowd of people to their right. He didn’t know if George was really so alone in the center of the floor, or if he was just that focused on him. Either way, he made quick work of the strides between them. He overestimated his last step, and ended up standing </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>closer than he’d intended to. Warm, intoxicated breath washed over his face in a cloud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dance with me,” George said, a statement not a question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t I get a drink first--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” he said, placing his almost full bottle of beer to Dream’s lips, tilting his chin back with his hand. “Drink up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It tasted horrible -- he soon realized it wasn’t actually beer, and instead was the almost toxic contents of the punch bowl sitting in the kitchen. Fucking Sapnap and his dumpster punch. The soft touch of George’s hand tilting his head back and the simper he wore across his lips made it taste a bit better, at least. The bottle was held gingerly back in his hands, but this time in his right one, his left one stayed in a tight grip on Dream’s chin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream flirted, everyone around him could see that. He didn’t mean for it to be a secret. He flirted with George and only George, seriously. Sometimes he’d make a suggestive remark to Sapnap (though with him, everyone knew it was a joke. Sapnap was like a brother to him,) or with Quackity or Karl. But they didn’t mean anything to Dream. They weren’t as real as the jokes he made with George. He wasn’t in love with him, he didn’t even necessarily like him, but if George came up to him and confessed his love and asked him out, he would say yes. Without a shadow of a doubt.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe he liked him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little bit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not enough to pursue, but didn’t let himself entertain the thoughts enough for them to get that far. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that’s why he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>did not mind his jaw in such a tight grip as he took another sip from the bottle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love this song,” George said, avoiding his gaze until his words trailed off. “It’s good to dance to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t heard it before, have you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream shook his head. George chuckled lowly. “Here,” he said. “Let me show you.” He moved his hand from Dream’s chin, and Dream was disappointed, until that same hand found a strip of skin on his arm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George tapped the beat into his skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One, two, three, four</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His thumb hit harder on two and three, leaving tingles and spots of white-hot heat in its wake. The singing had started by now, and this time he actually wanted to listen to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People say I drive too fast, move too fast. Ain’t no such thing as too fast for me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George was quietly singing the lyrics, his feet moving swiftly and his thumb still tapping. His head was thrown back, neck shining with sweat, though the party wasn’t packed, nor was it that warm. His other arm had found sanctuary slung over Dream’s shoulder, fingertips just grazing the hair at the back of his neck. He found himself wondering where the almost empty beer bottle went, until his thoughts were cut short by a rough tug at his arm, pulling him flush with the body in front of him. Dream had no </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking idea</span>
  </em>
  <span> what was happening, and he wasn’t complaining. </span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Livin’ at the speed of light…” he sang. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like a bullet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could be dead by the morning.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George moved closer, the hand that was once lingering on Dream’s exposed arm moving lower, then back up again, then across the broad expanse of his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream wanted to speak, wanted to ask him what he was doing, why his nails dug into his skin and why it felt right, but he didn’t want to risk even stopping to breathe. He didn’t want George to stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hand that only brushed his neck here and there, had now fully slotted itself in Dream’s thick hair, tugging every time George would sway. He looked high off of it, and Dream surely looked no better. George leaned in closer, his alcohol-laden breath hot over Dream’s face, and flicked his eyes down to his lips. A hand moved to his mouth, a thumb pulling down on his spit-slick bottom lip until Dream’s mouth went slack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“George,” Dream started. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George giggled, like he always did when Dream lowered his voice. “What do you think I’m doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you giving me a dental exam?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George jerked his head back by his hair, smiling trippingly, expecting Dream to jump away, to scold him with a half-drunken laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes darkened, lips curling into a smile, breath fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>forced </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of his lungs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For some reason, Dream didn’t feel embarrassed. He should’ve. They were in a room full of people and his best friend was chest-to-chest with him, and he just got his head yanked back by his hair, but he didn’t give a shit. He just wanted it to happen again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George didn’t answer with words, only movements, His face crept ever closer, somehow, eyes travelling to parts of his face they hadn’t gone before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time moved slow. Too slow. Not slow enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Dream echoed again, barely able to keep the tension of their eye contact afloat; he wanted to crumble right there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t know,” he said, halting his movements. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- breached the gap, lurching forward until their breaths mingled, hot with intoxication and pure fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t call it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream, finally, moved his own hands, up, up, up, until they slotted in the dip in his collarbone. They just breathed each other in for a while, seconds feeling like minutes, and with discernment between one another. They couldn’t even tell which was their heartbeat and which was the beat of the music rattling the floor. George was a magnet. A powerful, indestructible magnet with Dream’s name carved into it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to lean in. He wanted to close the centimeter of space between them, displace the atoms that kept them so painfully far apart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A half step forward, a tilted head prepared to slot together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So I ain’t got no time to -- </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait…” George said, breathlessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream pulled away, his hand retreating from where it was crawling slowly up George’s neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wro--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George shook his head, swallowing loudly, mouth hung open in attempts to catch his breath. “Come with me.” Again, it was a statement, not a question. It wasn’t something to be argued with, to be challenged. And Dream was more than fine with that. His hand was gripped tight as George pushed past him and into the bustle of people. They had to weave in and out of drunken bodies dancing, careless about where their limbs flung in the process, and not </span>
  <em>
    <span>nearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>soon enough did they reach the only free bathroom in the house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, Dream. You know what we’re doing,” he said, somehow still breathless. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe the running or maybe it was just Dream himself that made his lungs tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George turned around, pulling Dream into the bathroom and peeking around the corner, making sure no one could see them. “Shut the fuck up --” he slammed the door shut with his shoe-- “and kiss me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There didn’t need to be a second thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Dream walked forward, not caring that the other had nowhere to go, and slotted their lips together. George laughed, full of air and heat and life, and slung his arms around Dream’s neck. They could hear the music still, it was so loud they could </span><em><span>feel it,</span></em> <span>along with each other. So close, somehow not close enough. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something in his mind told him this was special. That it needed to be soft and slow and perfect, but George wasn’t having any of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you--” George whispered, pulling away just enough to sneak in those few words -- “going so slow?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to go faster?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yes,” he said, taking the initiative., flipping them around so Dream was the one pressed against the bathroom counter, slim hands gripping his hips. “Remember the song? No such thing as too fast for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And they were kissing again. Slow enough to feel it. Fast enough that it was over too soon. God, it felt like they were meant to do this. Why hadn’t they been, he wondered, though his mind didn’t have much in the way of spare time to think. Not when George’s hands were on him and he was being guided back with his legs against the counter, not when he was tasting the fruit punch and vodka on his lips. Not when he realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>whose lips they were. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t stop the breathless exhales. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My turn,” George said, flipping them around again, hopping up onto the counter and pushing every cup and bottle that stood in his way to the floor. He hoped no one heard that. They laughed together, </span>
  <em>
    <span>together. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Kiss me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like I ever wanted to stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was cheesy, he knew that, but it felt like fireworks. He hadn’t let himself ever get this far in his own fantasies, and he wondered how he ever lived without this. Without </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wanted this now, needed it, and there was no going back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream dug his fingertips into George’s hips, moving down to his thighs, then back up. Not all their touches were rough, some of them lingered, quietly, like his other hand raking through his hair, or the bump of George’s leg on his side. At every soft touch, the kiss would become more smiles than anything else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s got eyes on me. He’ll take me soon. He’s making room. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream pulled back, and George looked like he’d been kissed for hours on end, lips pink and slick and bitten, neck flushed red and eyes drifting closed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beautiful. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shit. Did he say that out loud?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do. How couldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” George praised, running his hands through Dream’s coarse, messy hair. That was his doing, George’s signature, “you’re not so bad yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went to lean in again, to take what he wanted and not let go, when someone came stumbling into the bathroom, door slamming against its hinges. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit!” George cried, sliding off the counter. “Knock first, asshole!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy, probably no older than Sapnap and somehow piss-drunk, was about to leave, when he pointed accusingly at Dream. “Hey! Loverboy! Finally got him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to ignore George’s snickering from beside him. “I will give you three seconds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy darted off, almost knocking himself over with the wall behind him. George laughed again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Loverboy? Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>what they call you, hmm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, George.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped forward, and though he stood so much shorter, Dream felt small. George ran his cold, icy fingers up Dream’s neck, burrowing in his hair again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George yanked back again, Dream’s neck exposed for his lips to press against. “I like it,” he imparted. “Meet me at your car.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamn it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dream was entirely fucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No such thing as too fast. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have no idea what that was.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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